


On The Run Chapter 1: Another One Off The List (Widowtracer)

by CinnamonMunchKen



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 02:12:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8082649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnamonMunchKen/pseuds/CinnamonMunchKen
Summary: Reaper is ordered to hunt down and kill Tracer but when he finds out about her relationship with Widowmaker from an old friend everything changes.





	

Reaper stood idly; listening to the heavy footsteps encircling him. This “room” or wherever it was he had found himself in, was dark and he could no longer feel the mask on his face.  


He was upright, he could feel that much, but he was attached to something. All he could feel was a plethora of needles jamming into his wrists and chest. Instinctively he tried to wraith out of it but was immediately put into his place by an agonizing surge of current that coursed through his veins and arched throughout his chest. It was short, sharp and did an excellent job of getting it’s point across: wraithing was neither an option nor would be tolerated.

A series of bright lights came on in front of him, blinding him and forcing him to look away as a tall, masked figure gave him a quick once-over before adjusting some dials on the machine Reaper was hooked up to. Looking down, he saw dried blood splattered on both sides of the examination table he was leant up against and wired needles carefully inserted into his chest and veins that were latched onto the power couplets belonging to the same machine that the masked man was configuring.

As the rest of the lights came on, a disembodied voice emitted from a speaker on the ceiling, Reaper tracked the wires to a one-way mirror facing him on the opposite side of the room. Whoever was controlling this machine was in there. The voice was mature, sophisticated yet sinister and sadistic all at once, it sounded like whoever was behind that mic was _enjoying_ this.

“I believe we made our orders very clear, Reyes-” He sounded like a sadist, the way he spoke with that subtle patronizing tone. He knew he was in charge and loved every second of it.  


“-You were to track down the former agents of Overwatch, extract information regarding the sudden recurrences of this ‘Soldier:76’ character by any means necessary and then execute them. We thought you would be the best equipped for this assignment given your… history and previous association with Overwatch. But our reports have spoken to the contrary. You haven’t succeeded in killing a single one and I am told you were the one assigned to retrieve Intel on the former agents’ whereabouts from Watchpoint Gibraltar on the same day that the recall was broadcasted…”

Reaper could hear the frustration building in the man’s voice, breaking through the cracks of his narcissism, worsening with every word. It had become clear that he had pulled out some sort of document and was reading from it-

“You signaled us that the download had failed and the retrieval for the data was negative less than 5 minutes before the recall took place. And if i’m not mistaken the only agent on guard was "Winston”, coincidentally one of the agents you are under orders to kill. Did you not have a full squadron of men with you for that retrieval, Reyes?-“

"That wasn’t the job-” Reaper hissed as he spat on the ground.  
“The agents were to deal with the Monkey, I was to get the files!”  
The masked man immediately jolted forwards, pushing off of he wall he leant against and stopping to look at Reyes with -what was most likely- a cautionary glare. Clearly not amused by his tone. Without warning he grabbed Reaper by the throat, forcing him to look into the hazy green afterglow of his mask.   
“When you are in the presence of Le Corbeau, you will show respect.” His voice was deep, husky and slightly distorted by some sort of audio device in the beak of his mask. They were definitely foreign but not from any country Reyes had heard before. He sounded like he has had to recite that line so many times that it had become ingrained into him.

He released his claws from around Gabriel’s neck only to punch him in the ribs. The impact could probably be heard on the other side of the room and you could tell the interrogator took great pride in his worthy strike. Like a dog; he wanted to please his master, he wanted his brute strength to be felt around the room. The harsh crack from Gabriel’s ribs would’ve sent chills down any lesser agent’s spine. Tiny specs of blood stained the knuckles of the masked man’s gloved fist. Reaper winced slightly but was mostly unfazed by the beating, simply looking up at his abuser and laughing. “Was that all?”

An ominous chuckle echoed throughout the room as the voice grew chilling over the microphone. You could hear the smile on his lips as he spoke;

“I do not tolerate failure, you know this. Your inability to complete this mission and your overall ineffectiveness has no longer rendered you an asset, merely a liability. Because of this you have left me no choice but to authorize your reconditioning. After I leave this room you will be tortured. Fail me again on this and I will see to it that you are disposed of.”

The masked figure stopped pacing around the room and turned to face Reaper, he loomed over him. The way he fidgeted, it was if he couldn’t stand still once he had heard the word “torture”, like a gluttonous wild dog drooling at the sight of a feast. He was a Plague Doctor, that was the name of the Talon re-educators, the ones that take agents who have gone rogue, or worn out their effectiveness and “fix” their minds.

He twirled a butterfly knife playfully in one hand and held a single piece of paper in the other:  
“Gabriel, Miguel Reyes, Orphaned during the first Omnic crisis…  
Age: Unknown,   
D.O.B: Unknown,   
Ethnicity: Latino,   
Affiliation: Blackwatch,   
Status: Deceased,   
Sombra hid you well, little is know about you except that you were involved in some form of Soldier enhancement program-”   
“If you keep talking then this torture won’t even be necessary.” Reaper hissed.  
The doctor chucked behind his crow mask, so amused yet unamused by Reaper’s false sense of superiority.  
“Oh, that’s good, I like that. I love it when they have some backbone, makes breaking them so much more satisfying. I didn’t know you were involved in the soldier enhancement program. A higher pain tolerance then?” -He cast the knife aside and put down the paper in his hand-“Oh, i’m going to have fun with you.”

* * *

  _Several weeks later_

“Come on Sonic, I taught you better than that!” Hana teased as she dropped a banana peel right in front of Lena’s cart and crossed the finish line. 

“DVa: 1, you guys: 0, I was hoping for a challenge.” Hana pouted whilst innocently tilting her head to the side.  
“Alright…then how ‘bout a rematch?” Lucio retorted. The three of them were grouped around the TV like a bunch of kids. On the table behind them lay an empty bottle of mountain dew and a few cold scraps of a large pizza.

They were in the rec room of King’s Row’s OW Base. It was 23:00 and the other agents were starting to wear down so they didn’t want to go to their quarters and risk waking someone, so they just stayed in the rec room. No one was complaining, the rec room was massive and was equipped with state of the art entertainment software. The 3 could easily set up at different TVs and play online whilst being in the same room but nothing beat the old school nostalgia of co-op. For Hana it reminded her of her happiest gaming days; not the days when she was playing professionally at competitions and conventions but rather the days when she up till midnight playing Co-op with her brothers.

A plucky boisterous smile formed on Lena’s face as she turned to face Hana with fervor in her eyes “Oi, this is ma best map, i’m going to get'cha this time Hana!”  
“We’ll see sis, better bring your A-game. You ready Lúcio?” Hana asked, taking a quick sip of mountain dew.   
“As i’ll ever be, come on let’s go!”   
Lucio always had the wheels on his cart customized to look like vinyls, he was never actually going to win a game with those wheels but his cart always looked the best out of the three.

When Lena actually won like she said she would (much to Hana’s shock) she wasted no time rubbing it in “Don’ tell me ya gettin’ a bit rusty there, Hana.”   
“Alright, alright you’re getting good, just don’t let it get to your head. Up for another one?”  
Lena simply stood up and did a few stretches “Sorry luvs, but I 'ave ta’ go, I've gotta go… do somethin’ ” she yawned.  
“Is Widowmaker’s name “something” now?” Lena’s face turned beet red as she was frozen in place by Lúcio’s remark but before she could say anything, Lúcio was silenced by a quick jab to the ribs from Hana.   
“Ignore him. Go get her!” Hana cheered.

  
The three of them always made a point of having a night like this whenever they had the chance, with Hana overseas; busy with MEKA and Lúcio touring, they would often find themselves separated for long periods of time but since the reformation of Overwatch both of them signed up to help fight against the madness. But more importantly it meant that they could be together again which in itself was something worth fighting for.

* * *

Widowmaker lay perched atop the rooftop she said she’d wait for Lena on. She was looking up at the sky but her expression came across as more pensive than appreciative. A very familiar, British face came into view above her;  
“It’s cold out luv, don'cha wan’ my jacket or sumthin?’” Lena began undoing the waist buckle of her parka, more than willing and ready to give it to her.  
“Mon Cher, you know I no longer feel the cold-” There was a slight tinge of sadness on her lips as she spoke, subtle bitterness. Amélie had told her once that sometimes... being the was she is…it was like drinking poison that she made for someone else. She said that is what true bitterness feels like.

Amélie was finally starting to come to terms with what life was going to be like for her, and Lena had held her hand and walked her down this path to acceptance, which is something no one had ever done for her before.  
“-And besides, with the way you’re shivering i’d say you need more than I do.”

Lena simply hummed. kneeling down next to Amélie and placing her head in her lap. She ran her pale fingers down Amélie’s cheek and through Amélie’s hair. Looking up at the sky so she could feel the chilly night air on her cheeks.   
“It’s gonna rain in'a bit. We should 'ead out.”  
“Hm? And where are you taking me?”  
“'ome ya muppet! Where else?”

Home. The concept was still foreign to her. Widowmaker had no home. She had safe-houses, bunkers strewn across the city, HQ but never a real home. She would string her web atop various rooftops and rest until midnight dawned. But that was then. Lena’s flat was spacious, the girl needed as much room as possible to move about in and shed some of that everlasting energy she had.

Lena has done well for herself and her flat showed it. It wasn’t remarkably fancy but it was situated well and overlooked the entire city. There were books neatly filled in their cases, novels, literature; both old and new and journals kept from years passed. In the far left corner of her eye she could see Lena’s guitar that she’s had since flight school. A gift from her parents. Lena was an ace with the guitar although she would never admit it, she played whenever she had some free time and enjoyed singing too. Some of Amélie’s fondest memories were of Lena singing softly as she played, thinking that she was asleep when she wasn’t.

God, who was she kidding? She had tried to convince herself that this was a lie, a diversion, a bit of fun but here she was; standing in the flat she found herself in every night and every morning, watching her rival, friend, lover as she picked up her guitar and strummed at its finely tuned cords.

“C'est si beau...”   
Lena’s voice was so soft when she sang. She still used her fathers pick, foot tapping the floor to keep herself in beat just like he taught her. She looked up at Amélie with a piqued brow, clearly shocked by the generosity of her comment.  
“This? I didn’t know you were…ya really think so?”  
“You should really pay more attention Chérie.” She sighed.

“I’m going to have a shower-”

“-Is that a statement or an invitation?” Lena’s ears pricked up like radars, cutting her off mid-sentence. Sauntering up the corridor, she rearing her head over her shoulder.   
“That’s up to you…” Amélie husked.

* * *

Reaper looked around Le Corbeau’s lavish office, it smelled like fine wine and leathers. The Leaders of Talon certainly spared no expense and Le Corbeau was no exception. There were hunting trophies on his wall, the heads of bears, lions and other great beasts the man had obtained through undoubtedly illegal means. On the far wall, behind his desk; a mounted hunting rifle named ‘Patience’ and a skinning knife named 'Victory’. The man was clearly a gifted hunter or poacher.   
Le Corbeau was an older man, he appeared as though he had seen it all: wise, wizened, the kind of man you’d expect to be in the Mafia. But despite all his grey, there was youth in his eyes, danger, mischief. Like a young pickpocket on a high-street; ripe, ready, and far too eager to get his mark.

“You, you’re the one who tortured me.”  
Reaper’s voice was monotone, not accusatory and certainly not angry.  
“Is that a problem?” Corbeau asked with a raised eyebrow?

“No. The plague doctor was the one who tortured me but he was under your orders.”

“And what have I always taught you?”

“Always follow orders.”

Le Corbeau leant his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray expectantly, and calmly placed his hands on the desk before him. His mannerisms said that he wanted more than what Reaper was giving him, staring at him with a predatory gaze, clearly awaiting the other half of his answer.  
“And the plague doctor was just another soldier following his orders.”

“You’re not nearly as dumb as you look Mon Limier.” Le Corbeau chuckled before reaching for the thickest document on his desk, “Tracer. She’s been illusive before, completely evading capture. Her Chronal disassociation has made her very, _very_ valuable but also dangerous. We think she could be a viable asset to our organization but she’s also one of our biggest threats.”  
“Do you want me to kidnap or kill her?” Reaper asked with both impatience and obedience.  
“Kill. To capture would be near impossible, I want you to eliminate the target by any means necessary.”  
“You just said she would be a viable asset-”  
“Let tell you something Limier; The definition of true insanity is to try something again and again and expect a different outcome. I have wasted enough resources on this” He puffed his cigarette. “A true leader knows this and wouldn’t let his egotistical pride get in the way of his organization’s goals. This is why i’m sitting in this chair and you’re sitting in that one.”

They sat in silence for a while, Le Corbeau was eyeing Reaper, waiting for a response. Any form of non-compliance. Any sign of disrespect. He wanted to see just how much the reconditioning broke him. To see if it had ‘corrected’ his attitude.

“You know, I have two bloodhounds and I like to throw them a bone every once in a while, I’ve picked out two very nice shotguns for you. They’re in the armory along with everything else you’ll need for the tracking.” Corbeau paused, taking another drag of his cigarette and puffing the smoke into Reaper’s face, “Help yourself.”

Reaper stood up, nodded and took his leave but just as he was about to close the door behind him, Corbeau called out to him.   
“Reaper. I’m not one for pets who don’t listen to their masters.”

* * *

Lena watched as Amélie ran her hands through her long dark hair as the water dripped down her back - disrobing slowly.

Amélie knew that Lena was right behind her but it was okay, she _liked_ being watched. Letting her hands wander, putting on a show for her… audience. Running her hands over her slick, perky breasts, arching her back against the steamy glass and just when Lena thought the torture was over, Amélie bent over and spread herself.  
“You know what that does to me.”   
She sighed as she wrapped her arms around Amélie’s waist and began biting her neck.   
“So predictable,” she purred “Do you enjoy watching me shower, Chérie?”  
Lena pulled back; examining the fresh love-bites she had left on her neck. Clearly satisfied with her work, Lena licked a trail from her shoulder to the tip of her jugular, growling into her ear; “I chose invitation.”  
  


* * *

“I’m here to pick up my shotguns.”  


“Still as polite as ever, eh Reaper?” The woman laughed over the intercom, the smoke from her cigarette fogging up the dense glass between the two. She was a beautiful woman: long black hair tied up into a bun and a scar just below her right eye. She was a skilled assassin; tempting and deadly in equal measure, her call-sign was “Vixen”, the vicious female fox with over 9 knives hidden on her body but none nearly as sharp as her wit. Her claws were laced with a translucent toxin that could kill a man in minutes, Le Corbeau saw to it that she had undergone mutations so that the toxin wouldn’t effect her but it had altered her physiology, leaving her eyes a venomous green. She didn’t have a contract as of right now so Le Corbeau had her assembling guns, seeing as she was the only agent who could disassemble and reassemble any gun in less than 15 seconds. And it would be very unlike Talon to let such raw skill go to waste.

“I’m here to pick up my shotguns” Reaper repeated a lot less patiently.  
“Straight to business then? Shame…” She pouted, handing him 2 state-of-the-art shotguns, they were relatively plain, tactical, black with “RGRT” etched just above the stock. “Recoil compensating stocks, focused spread, extended clip. Long story short; whatever gets hit by this is going to die and there won’t be much left. Take these-” She chucked a handful of shells on the table. “I don’t have many of these left so if you miss your mark…”   
“I always get my mark” -he hissed- “I got you, didn’t I?” he purred, still carefully examining the new shotguns to see if they fit his standards. They were much heavier than his Hellfire shotguns but he had no choice but to adapt.

* * *

And so, he set off to find an old friend, he needed information, Le Corbeau wanted Tracer’s head and Reaper needed to comply. Because both their lives hung in the balance. It dawned on him that “Limier” meant “bloodhound.” Le Corbeau’s third bloodhound.


End file.
